I am a creature of war. A centaurine, to be precise. Before my colt died, I was all gnashing teeth and nerves of ice. Even now, my chest burns for air thick with bravado, my ears long for clanging iron amidst hoof beats, and my nostrils quiver for bitter fear oozing from a thousand stupid men. But with Cadeyrn gone, I'm not sure what manner of creature I am anymore. One who trembles more than she ought, banished from battle, and ashamed. Yes, I'm mortified by the fear that licks down my withers and loosens my knees on the quietest of nights.